


Dissolution

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Graphic Descriptions of Agonizing Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trigger: Emetophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://verasteine.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://verasteine.livejournal.com/"><b>verasteine</b></a> while she waits for me to write her real request for the Timestamp Meme, this 'stocking stuffer' became more like a legging stuffer of gargantuan proportions.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dissolution

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://verasteine.livejournal.com/profile)[**verasteine**](http://verasteine.livejournal.com/) while she waits for me to write her real request for the Timestamp Meme, this 'stocking stuffer' became more like a legging stuffer of gargantuan proportions.

 

  
**Ianto**   


 

He was cleaning the coffeemaker when he heard the cog door rumble open. He glanced up just enough to notice Jack's coat before turning back to the machine. "I thought you were with the Council till ten," he said.

"Change of plans," said Jack.

Ianto looked up sharply. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing much. Just come see me in my office when you're done with the machine."

"You just want my coffee," quipped Ianto, his mind eased a little as he picked the tar carefully out of the threads.

"No coffee," said Jack in a voice that differed little from its normal state but froze Ianto to the marrow. "Just come see me before Gwen gets back from her scouting mission."

Ianto snorted. "I could clean five of these by then."

"Just finish that one," said Jack.

Everything inside Ianto started to coil in ways that he didn't like. "Alright," he said, resisting the urge to barge into the office right then and there and demand what was going on. _Too Gwen,_ he thought, though he wondered sometimes what separated them. Besides the fact that she was Jack's Second and extroverted, and turned him to Queen-and-Country putty whenever she told him what to do whilst holding a gun in her hand. Somehow, that last thing never had the same effect when it was Jack—unless the gun was really, really huge. Then again, Jack never really needed a gun to—he shook his head clear and returned to the filter in his hands, forcibly wondering how Gwen was doing at the South Wales Police Headquarters.

Half an hour later, much-needed coffee in hand, Ianto entered Jack's office.

Jack looked up from his writing. Barring a slight scrape on his neck, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but something about his expression halted Ianto in mid-step.

"Are you alright?" Then Ianto thought of the coffee in his hand. "Oh. I can go finish this first, if—"

"No, that's all right," said Jack. He gazed at Ianto, eyes grey and expressionless. "Have a seat."

Ianto took the chair, rather than his usual perch on the desk.

Jack finished writing, crossing the last 't' with a flourish, closed the folder over the stack of papers and then slid it across the desk to Ianto. "We need a new doctor," he said.

"And you want me to interview someone?"

"Got it in one."

"Whatever happened to 'they always seem to come to me'?"

"They seem to be hiding, this time," said Jack.

Ianto ignored the bait. "I thought you insisted on interviewing everyone for your team."

Jack drew a breath. "Normally, I do."

"All right," said Ianto, slowly. "But if you don't want to do it, shouldn't it be Gwen? Seeing as how she's your second-in-command, I mean?" He looked at Jack, pointedly.

Jack winced. "She's off scouting that tech whiz in Bridgend. And yes, I know I owe her an apology for yelling at her," he added, testily.

Ianto settled back into his chair, just a bit. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh, yes you did!"

"Oh, no I didn't!"

"Your eyes are very loud."

"I've been informed that they're soft and dreamy," said Ianto.

"Mm," said Jack.

"Jack...."

"Hmm?"

"Should I be doing something about the Cardiff Council?"

"What do you mean?"

"Retcon, perhaps? Cleanup? Do I need to inform the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor's Consort that he won't be able to expect her back home anytime soon?"

"Why is it 'The Right Honourable the Lord Mayor'? Isn't that too many 'thes'?"

"Jack...I'm starting to worry, and I get the feeling there's no time to count to ten."

"No retcon necessary," said Jack, quietly, "but you'll have time to count to ten." He snorted without enthusiasm. "Or at least I will."

Ianto felt the heat start to wriggle out of his body. "What happened?"

"I was on my way to the meeting when I met some...old friends."

"I didn't hear a Rift alarm," said Ianto.

"They didn't come through the Rift," said Jack. "At least, not recently. They've been here for thirty years."

"And they are...?"

Jack sighed, heavily. "The Cyclops"

"Cyclopes," corrected Ianto. "And how many one-eyed giants are wandering around Cardiff, and why haven't they been on the news?"

"Cyclops," corrected Jack. "The Greeks got it wrong, except about the [circle-eye](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyclops) thing. And they're not giants. They just have great holographic and weapons capabilities."

"So Cyclops is plural, then?"

"That's not the point," said Jack, in a tone flat enough to raise Ianto's alarm. "The Cyclops are a highly engineered species that exist in mercenary units of three."

"So they didn't have anything against you, personally."

"Well, yes, they did. I killed one of their pod and only managed to injure the other two. They wanted to kill me, but—"

"They had to replace their lost teammate before they could?"

"That, and they had to find someone to program them to do it."

"Shouldn't have been too hard," offered Ianto.

"Hey!"

Ianto shrugged. "To hear your stories, the galaxy is divided evenly between those who want to shag you and those who want to terminate you with extreme prejudice."

"You're missing those who want to do both."

"It's a miracle you haven't been killed more often."

There was a long pause that made Ianto worry for his job, his memories and, on the fringe of reason, Jack's life.

"Jack, I—"

"You're right. It is. And this pod was hired by a consortium of sixty corporations to do just that."

The cold in Ianto's system spread. "You never answered my question about the news."

"I dealt with them."

"How?"

"By letting them fulfil their mission." Jack's eyes looked so bleak that Ianto barely kept his place.

"Why do I get the feeling that I don't know everything, anymore?"

Jack dropped his gaze. "I'm not dead, yet."

Ianto went through the catalogue of responses from _Python_ jokes through confusion to horror in little more than a second, swallowing hard. "That's why you want a doctor."

Jack nodded. "The Cyclops not only tolerate almost limitless bioengineering, they help their clients to do it. The more money they're paid, the more creative they get. And they're very, very smart."

"And then there's the personal element," said Ianto.

"Yes. The last thing anyone in the Universe wants to face is a pod of Cyclops on a personal vendetta."

"Unless it's one of those with a lot of money behind it."

"Exactly. And this pod holds the universal record for that. So far, at least."

"So what did they do for you?"

"They made themselves vessels for...a virus, I guess you'd call it. Designed especially for me."

"What—" Ianto swallowed very hard. "What's it going to do to you?"

"It's going to dissolve me from the inside out. Very slowly."

Ianto stared blankly at him. "How—how long?"

"I don't know. They've used things like this before, and it usually takes a day or two. But they told me they wanted it to take longer with me, so they designed it to take two weeks. They don't know I can't stay dead, though, so they may have miscalculated."

Ianto breathed once, twice, almost a third time. "Want me to shoot you?"

"No," said Jack, his voice shaking for the first time as a slight smile crept through his lips. "But thanks for the thought."

"Why not?"

Jack pointed to the scrape on his neck. "Because any injury to the body after the initial one kicks the virus into overdrive and it blows me apart at the atomic level."

"So you might stay dead?" Ianto's heart raced and skipped a beat, and then another. "How about drowning, then?"

Jack shook his head. "The virus will read it as an injury and I'll dissolve. The real problem is that once this thing gets exposed to the environment outside the body it's designed to destroy, it reverts to its nonspecific form, and then you have a planet-wide outbreak of something that makes ebola look like a mild cold."

"So there's nothing we can do to speed this up, and you want a doctor to cure you—wait! What about The Doctor?"

"Can't," said Jack, wistfully.

"Why not?" demanded Ianto angrily, "Doesn't he owe you a bit of help?"

"All forms of this virus are lethal to Time Lords."

"So can this new doctor you want me to interview—" Ianto flung open the folder Jack had given him. "Can she find a cure, do you think?"

"Probably not," Jack admitted. "Besides, the Cyclops are monitoring my bio signs until I die. Then they destroy the virus."

"Why? They don't want to give away their trade secrets?" Ianto was surprised by the bitterness in his own voice.

"Point of honour. Once their contract is fulfilled, they kill nobody else, even if it means they have to die, themselves."

"Too bad we can't help them with that part," said Ianto.

Jack reached across the desk and squeezed his hand.

Ianto flinched.

"It's all right, Ianto," said Jack, withdrawing his hand, "it can't kill you as long as I don't get hurt while I'm still alive."

Ianto nodded and breathed, steadying himself as much as he could against the news and emotions wreaking havoc on his brain. "So we can't speed it up, kill you or try to cure it, and it's going to dissolve you—how do we keep you safe so you can come back?"

Jack reached back across the desk for Ianto's hand, but then stopped himself.

"Will I hurt you if I touch you?"

"Not yet," said Jack.

Ianto looked into tight, haunted eyes, and could no more stop himself from taking Jack's hand than he could from breathing.

"It should kill me before it gets to the skin. If my skin stays intact, there should be enough of me contained in one place so I can come back in a day or two."

"Fucking hell," said Ianto, swallowing back his nausea.

"So I need you to lock me in a vault. And then I need you to go away and let me dissolve on my own."

"I can't do that."

"You have to. I'm not turning the Hub into a charnel house. And you'll need to keep Gwen away, too. I don't think I could stand it if she saw—if you saw...." Jack's voice faded off and he started breathing hard.

Ianto went round the desk, unsure who clutched whom first.

"I'm scared," said Jack against Ianto's belly.

"Means you're sane," said Ianto.

Jack chuckled damply. "Not for long."

"Well, things are rarely sane around here."

Jack pressed tightly into Ianto for a moment. Then, "No, but really." He pulled back and looked up near Ianto's eyes. "I won't be sane for long."

Ianto tried to let that sink in before saying, "I'm still not leaving you to dis—to die alone."

Jack squeezed Ianto's arms gently, almost clinging. "If you can't say it, you won't be able to watch it."

"Bollocks! I watched you kill my fiancée in cold blood, so I can watch you fucking dissolve. And at least you'll come back." As if in slow motion, and from a great distance, Ianto heard the bitterness in his words and voice reflecting back at him, echoing in his skull and opening spaces he'd thought long closed and categorised. And then, wanting desperately to speak and undo what he'd done, he could only watch Jack's stricken face turn hard and bleak, and feel the sting as Jack released him as though he were a scorpion.

"Good point," said Jack. "And you'll get that chance to watch me suffer and die."

"But I won't have the chance to save you," said Ianto, through the wall in his throat. "I'm sorry I said that, Jack."

Jack's face softened, a bit. "I'd suggest counselling, but you wouldn't be you without all your unresolved issues."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what's going to happen and what I have to do before I kill you anyway."

Jack laughed, shakily. "I'm really going to miss you," he said, his eyes warming up as he gazed into Ianto's.

Ianto felt a bolt of something through his being, and blinked it back.

"Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

Ianto forced himself to focus on the task at hand. "It'll be alright, Jack. I promise."

Jack looked quizzically at him for a moment, and then launched into a matter-of-fact description of everything that was likely to happen.

There were times when Ianto wished that he didn't have such a keen memory. There were times when he wished he hadn't ever signed on for Torchwood, for Jack. There were times when wondered what would happen if he just retconned himself and forgot all about the horror of Lisa, of Jack—the very _fact_ of Jack, as defined by the Doctor—and just left it all behind for the mundanity of a Welsh life. He could do anything, after all. Tailoring, archival work, maintenance, security—and that's where he always stopped. Anything to do with security, tech or the sort of fieldwork experience he was now accruing would be useless without the knowledge he'd obtained at Torchwood. He cursed Jack inside as the words detailing the path of destruction through fat and muscle, then bone, then liver, spleen, pancreas, gut, then selected nerves, then very select areas of the brain, then heart-lungs-blood vessels leading to inevitable demise seeped through and induced tears of nausea and impossibly suppressed rage.

"Ianto?"

Ianto tried to focus on being a librarian at Cambridge.

"Ianto? You with me?"

"Yes," he said, quietly furious that he couldn't ignore the situation any longer, and utterly humiliated by his own weakness.

"Sure you wouldn't rather just lock me up in the farthest vault and throw away the key?"

"There isn't any key," said Ianto.

Jack sighed, and there was a brief look of ineffable joy on his face. "I'm serious, Ianto," he said, not quite schooling away all of it.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," said Ianto, "but that's not happening. So...how do we take care of you?"

"You lock me in a vault—"

"Not happening, remember?"

"Let me finish," said Jack, in a gentle tone that brooked no resistance whatsoever.

Ianto could only nod.

"You lock me in a vault and you don't come in except to do necessary cleanup. No food, no water and absolutely no touching after about an hour from now. And keep Gwen out, because she might want to have children, some day."

"I thought you said this thing was designed just for you."

"No chances on this one, or the deal's off and I lock myself away where nobody will ever find me," said Jack.

Ianto nodded. "Why no food or water?"

"Less to clean up, faster death. And when you come in, suit up. Think ebola on caffeine."

"Yes, I got that," said Ianto, testily.

"Hey. Hey...." Jack rose from his chair and winced. "Damn, it's starting. Ianto, that folder isn't just about a lead on a doctor. There's—"

"Your instructions on what to do when—at the end. Yes, I got that, too."

Jack laughed and there was a warmth in his eyes that Ianto hadn't known he missed that much. "You were an excellent hire! Walk me to the vaults?"

Ianto nodded once. "Sure." And then his breath caught and he wrapped his arms around Jack, hugging him carefully.

Jack clasped him in return. "Don't kiss me," he murmured into Ianto's neck.

Ianto pressed his lips against Jack's clad shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Sneak," said Jack, thickly.

* * *

 

  
**Jack**   


 

This awakening differed from all the rest. His bones were intact. He fought his way back through slow, deep, tarry mire. Felt his blood vessels knit and fill – and hurt. Felt his brain realign and return his personality. Felt his tongue moisten and shrink. Felt his eyes form and fill and connect with their sockets. Felt the light phantoms along the optic nerve as it reconnected retina to brain. Felt the flush of saliva and then tears as his heart restarted. He screamed himself awake in remembered pain. And opened his eyes. And saw that he was alone.

He sat up abruptly, and a piece of paper fluttered off of his chest to the floor of the vault. He bent to pick it up, and fell off the ledge. Terrified that his nightmare hadn't ended, he cried out as his shoulder, head and hip hit the floor, and reached frantically to feel for broken bones. He found none, but his heart raced and he panted as he forgot for a moment how to breathe. His brain felt new, somehow. As though he'd been freshly made. And then he realised that he had been. He reached for the paper.

_Jack,_

Ianto and I have gone out for coffee and supplies. If you come back to life while we're out, don't panic.

Lots of love,  
Gwen

Below that, the handwriting changed.

_P.S. If you're bored, or we have to go off and chase something, you can read our reports in your office._

Ianto

Jack smiled, a surge of warmth rolling through him as he thumbed the note. He loved them. He felt it as a fresh thing as he made his way out of the vault and found confidence in newly wrought muscle and bone.

His climb began slowly, as though he'd forgotten that he could move limbs that way. He expected weakness when he came back from a death that thorough, but he'd never yet experienced this physical amnesia. It was odd—at once nerve wracking and oddly refreshing—to experience the world he mostly remembered in the body he mostly recognised as though he'd never known either. Come to think of it, it was odd that he had any sort of memory at all after having been all but liquefied over – how many days?

And then he realised that he was taking the steps two at a time with buoyancy that he hadn't felt in a long time. Or at least, he thought he hadn't felt it. Could this be the phenomenon he'd once heard of called 'remembered wellness'? He reached the office door and crossed the space to his desk in three strides to find—from left to right—a folder containing a printed report, the official logbook he usually kept, and a pocket-sized notebook. He sat down, suddenly less sure that he wanted to read any of this. He decided to start with the log. That should at least have reports on the routine stuff that had nothing to do with his death.

Two pages after the bookmark, Jack couldn't remember anything he'd read. He sighed and reached for the folder—Gwen's, he knew, even without looking at it. Perhaps if he dove into her view of things, he'd be better able to cope with reading his demise through other eyes.

Skimming over her neatly organized pages, he still couldn't concentrate. He found himself skipping automatically whenever Ianto's name was mentioned (which it was a lot), especially when it came up next to his own. And then he caught sight of words like 'blood' and 'vomiting' also attached to his name and less directly to Ianto's, and he had to shut the folder and slide it away.

He gathered himself together and thumbed the notebook, sighing as he surrendered to the fact that he was never going to rest or focus until he'd read Ianto's account of the last – he still didn't know how many days, and wouldn't until he opened the bloody thing and read it. He slid his forefinger under the cover and turned it slowly over, reminding himself that what was done, was done.

There, in Ianto's inconsistent (beloved, though Jack would never, _ever_ admit it) handwriting, was the story of his death. No prologue, no warning, just a story of which Jack barely remembered a small fraction. He touched the writing on the page, feeling the physical imprint of biro on paper and using it to soothe himself as though Ianto (or Gwen or Rhys, or even Andy) were there with him. He smelt the pages, inhaling deeply. It didn't smell as much of Ianto as his diary had, and that somehow made Jack breathe a sigh of relief. And then the niggling little voice in his head told him to stop being such a Nellie and just get on with it.

 

>   
> 
> 
> _Dissolution – Day One: While Jack changed into a standard, weevil-appropriate boiler suit, I outfitted the Hub's cleanest vault with mattress and pillow enclosed in waterproof, antimicrobial casing, and a blanket normally reserved for visiting aliens of dubious hygienic background. He also told me to get him a bucket for later. I joked about Mr. Creosote, but he just gave me a look and a sort of sad-looking nod._
> 
> Gwen returned late, after I locked Jack up, with promising news from Bridgend. I asked her to write it up, after she finished telling me off for not letting her in with Jack. Must go set up cot in vault next to Jack's. I'm really not looking forward to this.
> 
> *****
> 
> _Dissolution – Day Two: I read to Jack last night. He's always gone on about my 'Welsh vowels', so I thought it might help. He asked for something from Lovecraft. I've no idea why, but I read him a few pages from "The Call of Cthulhu" and it seemed to soothe him. He said I reminded him of Lovecraft. He'll be getting instant coffee for that, once he comes back, preferably decaf._

Jack winced through his grin before catching sight of the next paragraph.

>   
> 
> 
> _Jack's pain is noticeable today, even though he's trying to hide it. That's not usual for him. He's usually quite vocal about pain. I thought at first it was Gwen's presence that prompted such effort, but he kept it up even after she went home. He wants to spare us both, and though I'm grateful for his effort, I'm ashamed, as well. _
> 
> *****
> 
> _D-Day Three: Rift alarm went off last night before I could finish the entry. Couldn't read to Jack, either. When I got back (small bit of alien tech that took four hours to find – Gwen wrote it up), he was shivering in his sleep. Turned the heat up, and cleaned Janet's vault. She seemed edgy._
> 
> Spent today in the field with Gwen dealing with false reports of flying saucers and real ones of a hoix and an Andorian. Hoix in vault for now. Gwen helped Andorian to mend his ship. Retcon given to five people. Took license plate number of Andorian for Jack, who might know him.

Jack perked up at that, making a note to check the official logs of the day.

>   
> 
> 
> _Jack's pain's worse today, and he can't hide it so well. His muscles are weaker and his speech is a bit thick. How much of that is the virus and how much is thirst, I don't know. He has bad stomach cramps, possibly from hunger, though I don't quite believe him when he says that. (The body is supposed to adjust after 24 hours, and Jack stopped saying anything about it after the first night.) But he's not too ill to appreciate my red tie. I'll read to him again if_
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Four: Six people spat out by the Rift last night. Saw parts of Cardiff I'd never thought of before, including a shop specialising in rehabilitated snakes. Not Gwen's favourite place, so she left me to it so she could "go see about the Elephant Man" in Splott. I call it fleeing the scene. Snake-girl and the rest of them are now at Flat Holm. Gwen's doing up the official report, now._
> 
> Jack vomited today, or tried to. He's complaining of thirst, but refuses to drink. He says it'll get better, but I don't believe him. He won't even accept ice chips.
> 
> I read to him again tonight, though if I'm honest I really don't know how I managed it. He wanted "[Nyarlathotep](http://www.classicreader.com/book/2719/1/)". I first read it just after I got nicked for shoplifting. Loved it then. Not sure I'd want to have something about "crawling chaos" read to me if I were dying the way Jack is, but he just smiled as if he were reminiscing. I'm beginning to think he spent some interesting times with Lovecraft.

Jack laughed silently and shook his head. "You have no idea," he murmured.

>   
> 
> 
> _I'm beginning to worry about Jack. Tonight when he came to the Perspex to say hello, he seemed slow and his pain was quite bad. His urinary and bowel output have decreased significantly and his skin is starting to look wrinkled. His speech is slurred, as though his tongue were dry or thick. His eyes look dry and they're starting to sink a bit. I didn't want to leave him tonight, even if it was just to go into the next cell. I wish I could help._
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Five: Space octopuses. Hundreds of them. Well, 47 of them that we counted, but the legs and their...predilections made it seem like hundreds. Fighting them is tiresome, not to mention tiring, especially when they shower you with blindingly blue ink right before leaping into the Bay. Good thing I didn't wear a suit._
> 
> I tried charm with Jack and got him to try the ice chips. That and the stack of research I printed out that shows that they alleviate discomfort without slowing the dehydration process seemed to persuade him. They do seem to make him a bit more comfortable, at least when the blood's not coming out both ends. I don't know how much longer he'll last with his guts dissolving like that. I really wish I could shoot him.

_Same here, Ianto,_ thought Jack.

>   
> 
> 
> _I read to him again, once things settled a bit. "[Five Children and It](http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/778)" this time. (Well, we read to him. Gwen does a good Psammead.) After the space octopuses, neither of us could manage Cthulhu (or any other Lovecraft), but Jack wants aliens. Says it makes him feel like he's home._
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Six: Jack's bones are snapping. One by one, they're breaking with every movement, every tenth breath. I had to disobey his orders and help him back onto the mattress. I tried not to break more bones, but he went off like an artillery unit. He tried screaming, but it hurt him too much. Gwen's sitting with him while I get a book to read – "A Child's Christmas in Wales" this time, I think. It's sitting in front of me while I write this. Jack can't speak anymore. His jaw's broken, and his tongue's swelling. I can only hope that this will comfort him as much as it did me when I was sick, but I won't be able to read anything until I can get my voice under control._
> 
> Little Rift activity today, although the Weevils are grumpy. Cleaning their quarters was a bit trickier than usual. Used up last of the bandages today.
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Seven: Jack's mind is gone. He doesn't know us and tries to shy away when I go in to clean his vault. He's in pain and can't figure out what's happening to him. He can't talk, he can't cry, he does try to scream. Nearly all his bones are broken in multiple places, but his windpipe remains intact. It would be a mercy if it collapsed, but I suppose the Cyclops knew that when they designed the virus. If I ever find them, I'm going to kill all of them. Very painfully. _
> 
> I worry about Gwen. She's been very stoic, which only happens when there's a world-threatening crisis. She won't tell me what she's thinking about all this, which is unusual. I have to admit that I'm grateful, though I'd never say it to her. She's off with Andy Davidson investigating a "spooky doo" in Victoria Park. Other than that, it seems quiet.
> 
> Jack's screaming again.
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Eight: Jack's bones have begun to liquefy. He can't talk, his pain seems unimaginable. For the first time since this started, I'm glad I'm not allowed to touch him. If I could, I would, and that would only make things worse for him. I've spent the day reading to him. Anything I could think of. News, Nesbitt, Thomas, Kamasutra – that upset him – even Lovecraft. Then I tried singing a bit. I'm a crap singer, but he seemed to like the sound of the hymns from my old church. He really quietened when I sang "Tainted Love" like that. Seemed upset when I tried "You're Beautiful", though._
> 
> I don't know what's happening outside the Hub today. Gwen said something about Rhys and Andy, and I'm pretty sure I heard another voice floating around. I've been relieved of all duty except Jack. Probably just as well. Can't seem to focus on anything else. I've moved my mattress to the corridor. I'm not leaving him alone tonight.
> 
> I miss his voice.
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Nine, 22:00: Jack died at 09:27 today. The dissolution went fast once the bones were gone, though it seemed an eternity. Fortunately, his skin remained intact. His eyes didn't. Following his instructions, I activated the device he left in his desk drawer and waited until it turned green and changed shape before beginning the cleanup process with Gwen. She was magnificent. I left her alone with him afterwards so she could cry in peace. I'll never forget her quiet support._
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Ten, 09:30: Jack is still dead. No change, at all. I suppose it isn't surprising, considering._
> 
> 17:34: Still no sign of life. It's too bad, really. He'd have loved the sisters from Spling.

Jack's eyes widened. "Damn!" he said, out loud. "Please tell me they didn't—"

>   
> _Unfortunately, they had to leave almost immediately. Though we all had a marvellous time with them at lunch. Especially Rhys. And Gwen._
> 
> 23:38: Still nothing. I'm going to bed next door. It's all right, though. He'll be noisy when he wakes up. He always is.

"Hey!"

>   
> 
> 
> _Day Eleven, 22:17: Still nothing from Jack, although it looks as though his body (more of a sack, at the moment) might be a bit fuller. That could just be because of the pencil-like aliens we spent the day chasing, though. The local anorexics looked fat after that. Gwen took us all out for dancing and food. Gobs of it. Jack would have loved it. Time for some sleep while the Rift's quiet._
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Twelve, 06:18: Nothing. (And I measured.) It hasn't quite been three days, which is the longest I've seen him dead so far. I'm going to do a bit of archive work before Gwen and/or the Rift arrive._
> 
> 09:30: Nothing yet. Worried.
> 
> 15:02: Gwen's trying to hold his hand and the contrast between their skin is very stark. He's so blue. ~~I'm beginning to think~~ No. He's coming back, and I'm not crying into his coat again. Once was bad enough.
> 
> 23:58: Nothing. I'm going to go sleep in his hole. I'll stick a note on his chest in case he wakes up. Jack, will you please fucking wake up!
> 
> *****
> 
> _Day Thirteen, 07:22: Bad night last night. Jack's pillow a bit the worse for wear._
> 
> We've run out of coffee. I can't believe I let that happen! Gwen's pulling me out to help fetch supplies and "get some fucking fresh air, for God's sake!" I'll leave another note on Jack and take the pillow to the cleaner's.

 

Jack looked at his clock. _Nine o'clock. They're probably having breakfast. I hope they are, at least. Although—_

His thoughts were interrupted by the cog door alarm and he whipped around to see Gwen walking through the door with purpose in her step and bags in her arms, Ianto following behind with two more bags dangling from one hand and a coffee clutched in the other.

For a moment, he just watched them, letting memory and feeling wash over him as he tried to keep his feet under him. They were talking, but the pounding of his heart in his ears wouldn't let him hear what they were saying. All he knew was that they were safe, they were healthy, they were alive. Until this moment, he hadn't had any idea how terrified he'd been that they wouldn't be.

And just then, Ianto looked up and saw him, and Gwen followed suit when his bags hit the floor.

In a blur of action, Gwen bounded up the stairs and had Jack in her arms before he could even breathe and he would never be able to describe how good that felt. He couldn't hear a thing (other than his name) for all the noise in his head and heart, not even what he said to Gwen as he felt his mouth move and his voice work. As he kissed her cheek, he was pretty sure he couldn't get too many words in, and that what he did manage wasn't exactly earth shattering.

And then he saw Ianto, standing in the doorway with the takeaway coffee in his hand and a carefully engineered look of nonchalance betrayed by the slightest twitch of his left (free) hand. Jack eased Gwen away, releasing her with a last squeeze of her hand, and walked towards Ianto.

"Coffee?"

Jack took the cup gently from Ianto's outstretched hand and sipped it. "Not as good as yours," he said. And then the coffee was in Gwen's hand and Ianto was in his arms and they were locked tightly together as Jack felt his own lock come undone.

"Jack," whispered Ianto, though it sounded more like a last gasp torn from his soul.

"I know," murmured Jack.

"I missed you," said Ianto, anyway.

"I know," said Jack, against Ianto's ear. He nuzzled the soft hair there before pressing a long kiss to Ianto's temple.

Ianto leaned into it, his breath shuddering against Jack's ear as his arms tightened around him. And then he was kissing his way desperately down Jack's cheek as Gwen slipped out of the room.

Jack sank into Ianto's kiss, the taste and feel of him sparking all his neural pathways back to life and memory.

And memory. Jack cradled the back of Ianto's head, caressing with tongue and hand. He blinked and pulled back, breaking the kiss with great tenderness. "Ianto, I—"

And then the Rift alarm went off.

* * *

"It's t-t-too f-f-fucking s-s-s-smallllll!"

"So you keep trying to say," said Jack, stripping a last piece of endothermic slime from Ianto's naked spine just as it gelled.

"Aa-haa!"

"Sorry about that," said Jack, running the scanner over Ianto. "All gone. Now hold still while I spray on the neutraliser." He readied the spray gun.

"You like big g-g-guns, d-d-don't you?" said Ianto through gritted teeth.

"Never hurt," leered Jack. "Well, not me, at least," he added, ruefully.

"You—oh, b-bloody h-hell...."

Jack nodded. "Sorry, but it's gonna hurt."

"F-f-fuck!" muttered Ianto. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

Jack sighed and sprayed Ianto's front thoroughly. "Turn around."

"That's not s-so bad," said Ianto as he complied.

Jack sprayed his back with equal care. "Give it a minute," he said, turning the spray gun onto himself. "Do my back?"

Ianto took the gun and sprayed Jack. "It is fun using this. Couldn't we just load it up with weevil spray and go off hunting one night?"

Jack picked up a towel and began fanning Ianto with it. "Only if you can find a way to mass produce the new stuff cheaply enough."

"I take it we're not supposed to rinse this stuff off?"

"Not unless you want all the heat sucked out of you forever. It needs to dry on the skin—the quicker, the better." He handed Ianto the towel and waited, pointedly.

Ianto rolled his eyes and fanned Jack dry. "Well at least I'm not cold anymore."

"Give it a minute. Well, five or six. First comes—"

"Aah! God, it feels like fire!" Ianto's skin began to redden.

"I know. I'm sorry." Jack winced as his own skin caught on fire. "Only lasts a minute," he gasped.

"Look at my skin! It's like a lobster!"

"I know," said Jack, hissing slightly through the pain. "You have such fair skin." He reached out for Ianto, stopping as another wave of hot pain coursed through them both.

"Yeah, well, your tan's gone red," grumbled Ianto.

"That'll change," said Jack, grumpily.

"Thank god," said Ianto.

"Oi!"

"I meant for the pain going away. Twat!"

"Oh, dear. Um, let's go to bed."

"I already told you, it's too fucking small! Why don't we just go to mine?"

"Because small, intimate and enclosed is better for dealing with extreme—"

"Oh-h-h-h-h f-f-fuck-k-king h-h-hell!" Ianto practically collapsed in on himself with shivering.

"—hypothermia," finished Jack, dejectedly. "Come on." He tugged Ianto over to the small camp bed and sat him on it. "Lie down and budge over," he said, his own teeth beginning to chatter as the cold hit him.

Ianto moved and held the bedclothes up as Jack slid in. "I thought this was supposed to s-stop," said Ianto, coiling in on himself.

"Uncurl," said Jack, in the tone he usually used for 'Come here'.

"C-can't," shivered Ianto.

Jack wound himself around the tight ball that was Ianto as best he could and pulled the covers over both of them.

"W-why are you so warm?"

"I'm not all that warm," said Jack, as he attempted to warm his nose against Ianto's chilly face.

"More so than I," said Ianto, as though he were racing against his shivering.

Jack rubbed Ianto's back. "I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm full of life. Or maybe," he added, stepping up the rubbing vigorously, "it's because you threw yourself in front of the slime launcher as the Fraxian commander was firing it at me."

"That hurts," said Ianto.

"How do you think it made me feel?"

"No, your rubbing. It hurts."

"Oh. Sorry." Jack stroked soothingly down Ianto's back, trying to calm himself enough to mean it. It was going to take awhile.

"I couldn't do it," said Ianto after a long pause.

"Couldn't do what?"

"Couldn't stand to watch you die again so soon."

"I didn't exactly want to die, either," said Jack, when he could. He rubbed gently at the back of Ianto's frigid neck. "But we've been through this."

"Yes, I know. You come back, we don't, so we have to let you die."

Jack massaged the groove at the base of Ianto's skull and felt the tension begin to ease just the littlest bit.

"I hate it, you know," murmured Ianto, so quietly that Jack could barely hear him.

"Hate what?" said Jack, even though he knew.

"Watching you die," said Ianto, as though he were speaking to an idiot.

"It's never easy watching someone you love slip away," said Jack, quietly.

Ianto did manage to uncoil an arm enough to curl it rather tightly around Jack, then. "Don't flatter yourself," he mumbled against Jack's chest.

"All right, then, what?" said Jack, much more gently than he'd intended.

"I just...I hate feeling so useless. So does Gwen. Rhys is still trying to get used to the idea, in the first place. Says he wishes he could do that."

"Gwen hit him when he said that, didn't she?"

"She would've, but she wasn't there."

"Oh? You and Rhys had a boys' night out?"

"Gwen was in the loo. No need to get jealous."

"I'm not jealous! Well, maybe of your date with the sisters from Spling."

Ianto stretched and smiled. "Ah, the sisters from Spling!"

Jack shivered when Ianto pronounced 'Spling' so luxuriantly.

"That was a fun night."

"At least for Gwen and Rhys," prompted Jack.

"I was a bit preoccupied," Ianto admitted.

"Which brings us back to you hating to watch me die."

"I'm never dabbling with an interrogator again," muttered Ianto.

"That's EX-interrogator, and I thought we'd passed the dabbling stage, but back to the point...."

Ianto shivered again as a new wave of cold chilled his skin to the touch from head to toe.

Jack held him close, pressing their faces together into the fresh pillow. "Not that I mind dabbling with a writhing Ianto," he said, trying for a leer and failing.

"Suffocating," supplied Ianto.

"Sorry," said Jack, letting him up a little.

"I always wanted to be the one to save people," said Ianto. "Especially after my—I never wanted anyone to die for me."

"Especially after your father died saving you from the car crash," said Jack quietly.

"He'd caught me trying to nick a pair of sunglasses from a Tesco's," said Ianto. "He made me pay for it and then cancelled our plans to see the Scotland/Wales match."

Jack gave him a blank look.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Six Nations? Well, five back then."

Jack blinked.

"Rugby," said Ianto, flatly.

"Oh," said Jack, vacantly. "Of course."

"And I took a slime ball for you." As if to add pointed insult to injury, yet another wave of shivering coursed through Ianto's body. "Fuck, J-Jack, when does this s-stop?"

Jack held him and kissed him, enveloping him as much as he could. "After the neutraliser works its way in as far as the slime did? An hour or two, I hope," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault I was a prick and jumped in the way."

"That's not what I meant."

"I can't deal with what you meant."

"You already did."

In the midst of a convulsive shiver, Ianto uncurled his neck with a force Jack could feel and gazed at him, searching. His mouth worked slightly, silently, at odds with his throat. His hands clutched Jack's back in ways that weren't entirely comfortable. "I wanted to save you," he said at last.

"I know," said Jack, through the thick lump in his throat. "And I wanted you to," he added, from a great and painful distance.

"And I couldn't even touch you."

"No, but you read me Cthulhu."

"And you compared me to Lovecraft," reminded Ianto.

Jack smiled through thick throat and prickly eyes. "Only because you're everything he could have been."

"So you can get me a publishing deal, then?"

"If you want. I know this guy in—"

"Next time, I won't try to save you."

"Mission accomplished, then," said Jack, stunned by the weight of remembered malaise.

Ianto uncoiled himself completely, shivering the while, and locked himself around Jack, rolling them so that he was on top, pinning Jack's wrists to the bed and looking him straight in the eye. "I obeyed your orders this once, but I'm never keeping my hands off you again, and if I think I can save you without dying in the process, I'm going to fucking do it."

"Ianto," breathed Jack, aroused and overwhelmed as the malaise shifted, stirred, came unglued.

Ianto kissed him deeply, angrily. "I missed you so much, I had to go Weevil hunting—on my own," he added, at Jack's look, "every night before I could write in that fucking journal. And that was before you fucking died!" Ianto kissed him again, so desperately that Jack had to close his eyes. "And then when you died, I couldn't even clean you off until that execution monitor turned green and changed into a ball, and by the time I got to you, you'd gone cold...." Another wave of shivering overcame him. "F-fuck! And all I want to do is just _lick_ every square millimetre of your body and feel you come in as many places as my body can give you, and I can't even stop convulsing long enough to kiss you properly."

"Let me have my hands," said Jack, softly.

Ianto sighed and relaxed his grip on Jack's wrists. "Sorry," he muttered, as Jack winced and rubbed circulation back into them.

Jack pulled the covers back up from where they'd fallen, covering Ianto before drawing him into his arms. "You're kissing me fine. Or you were. Want to try again?"

It seemed like an eternity before Ianto's lips closed around his. Softly, this time—caress, rather than possession. Jack poured himself into it, peripherally aware that he was used to experiencing anxiety and doubt when faced with such openness on either of their parts. _He loves me so much,_ he thought, only this time the expected fear was supplanted by a sense of great relief and warmth. He slid his fingers through Ianto's hair, gently cupping the back of his head as he rolled them to cover Ianto.

And then Ianto shivered so convulsively that Jack found himself on the floor. "Well, that doesn't happen every day," he remarked as he turned the heat up yet again, fetched the last blanket from his chest of drawers and clambered back into bed with his balled-up lover.

"Ssssorry," managed Ianto between teeth so tightly clenched that his mouth started to lose its shape.

"Tell you what," said Jack, "how about I read to you?"

Ianto muttered something into the mattress that Jack didn't fully understand.

"You mentioned that you missed my voice," offered Jack.

"F-f-f-f-ffuck!"

"Now, that I understood," chuckled Jack, tucking the blanket and himself around Ianto.

Ianto forced himself to uncurl from a ball to a sort of 'J' and bury himself in Jack's warmth. "I thought s-sex was the best way to warm up," he grumbled into Jack's neck.

"It is if you can spare the blood to your extremities," said Jack, smoothing his hand down towards Ianto's groin, only to meet tightly-squeezed, up-drawn legs protecting the prize he sought to warm.

"Point taken."

Jack smiled gently and stroked the rigid muscles of Ianto's belly with the largest expanse he could make of his big, warm hand.

Ianto twitched and winced, a cry of pain wrenching from him.

Jack's hand immediately went to Ianto's cheek. "I loved it when you read to me. It gave me focus and hope. Made me feel better. I love your voice when you read."

"Why w-when I read?" Ianto burrowed further into Jack's embrace.

"Well, always, really," said Jack into Ianto's hair. "But when you read, it opens up. I hear everything in it, then. All the warmth, the humour, the love...and then, there's the filth," he added, with deep appreciation.

Ianto pressed closer against him, still entirely too tense but smiling against Jack's skin. "Everyone likes the filth," he said.

Jack shivered, and not from cold. "So what would you like me to read to you?"

"The Kamasutra?"

"You'll be the one reading that to me, and no, because you're having an especially bad reaction to the Fraxian neutraliser."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"The last guy I knew who had a reaction like that and got seriously aroused...you really don't want to know."

Ianto groaned. "I think my dick just guessed."

"So you read me _A Child's Christmas in Wales_, which I loved, by the way. How about I read you _The Pirates of the Boeshane_? It always made me feel better when mum read it to me."

There was silence.

"Ianto?"

"I'd love that," said Ianto, thickly.

Jack kissed Ianto's forehead fervently. "It's the least I could do," he said, with equal difficulty. He drew a breath and pressed the nearly forgotten code into his wrist strap and watched as the projection formed at his focal distance. "Once upon a time," he began, his voice as steady as he could make it, "there were seven human children – four boys and three girls – an Andorian named Shev and an octopus named Snuggles. Shev and Snuggles were the very best of friends. The human children were Snuggles' pets...."

Much later, Jack stroked Ianto's warm arm as he slept, relaxed at long last, with his head on Jack's shoulder. "Thank you, Ianto," he murmured, pressing his lips against Ianto's deliciously warm forehead. "For everything."


End file.
